


Hope

by Jaegerprince



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaegerprince/pseuds/Jaegerprince
Summary: Despite what Bruce may believe, Jason's death impacted more than just the immediate family.





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Listen y'all. 
> 
> the fact that no one outside of the batclan is fucked up over Jason's death has me losing sleep. so here you go.

Despite everything from corrupt government officials to nearly bi-weekly supervillain mayhem, there is still a fairly strong public library system in Gotham City. It’s one of the smaller investments that old families like the Waynes insist on even when board members of larger corporations can’t see the benefit in giving money to something that doesn’t turn a profit.

This has an interesting and unintended effect on the local criminal population. 

Librarians are to be protected, they are something like the New Priests of Gotham. They may not absolve you of your sins, but sometimes, if you are lucky, they will look the other way on your late fees. 

That isn’t what you think of when you get the job. Instead, you remember being warm and safe for the first time in a long while. Listening to a story about a pirate being read in the children’s corner. 

On your first day as a Librarian, you are pulled aside.

‘You will hear things on this job’ they explain solemnly ‘things that your nightmares would never think of.’ 

You had already been afraid of this, but you nod along anyways. Your boss has no idea what your nightmares hold. 

His name is Jason Todd, and he doesn’t belong here. 

He’s such a brilliant little boy, reading beyond his years, and asking more questions then you know what to do with. 

You wish he could go to school, that he could have the chance you had. He could change the world, for the better of this you are absolutely sure, if he just had the chance.

But Gotham is cruel, and you are forced to watch as it slowly drains the life out of this brilliant child. 

it’s hard, but you do your best to remain unattached, there are so many kids here and you can’t afford to choose favorites. That doesn’t stop you from picking out books you think he would enjoy or slipping him an extra piece of candy from the jar on your desk. 

You tell yourself that you are doing a good job, that you haven’t grown to adore this boy and for a while, you believe it.

The cold terror that fills you the day he isn’t there when you open the doors on Friday morning proves just how wrong you were.

There’s nothing you can do but wait, wait and pray, Children go missing all the time from this part of town and all you can do is hope that he has finally run away and found some new life that will treat him with more kindness then he would ever have found here. 

Against all odds, and isn’t that just the best way to describe him, that's what actually happened. 

Three months after his disappearance, Jason comes back. You can’t stop the way your heart sings when you see him, His smile is so bright and his face lights up when he sees you. 

He runs to you and talks a mile a minute about Mr. Wayne and how he has more books in one room then Jason has ever seen in his life. You smile and nod at the right moments, and Jason stays after closing to help you reshelve.

When its time for him to go he pulls you into a tight hug and says thank you in such a quiet voice that you can’t help remembering the underweight boy who first toddled into your library. 

Jason leaves, running towards a sleek black car with an older man standing near the passenger side, but before he gets in he yells over his shoulder that he would see you next week. 

You don’t expect that will be true, why Jason would bother coming back to this hopeless place when there was so much more for him out there now, you would never understand.

He does come back, every Friday at almost exactly 3:00. He tells you about all the things he’s learning from his lessons, and how sometimes he gets lonely because there aren’t really any kids around. 

You are just glad to see that he’s been gaining weight.

Sometimes he brings gifts, there's a new set of comfy chairs in the kid's corner and a new scanner at the front desk. Jason says that if they ever need anything that you should just ask.

‘Mr. Wayne gives me an allowance, what else would I spend it on?’ he says with a shrug. Like its nothing. 

To him kindness comes so naturally.

How this vile place managed to spit out a boy like Jason you will never understand.

Finding out about his death makes you cold in ways that you had prayed you would never be, but there is a job to do, and other kids like Jason, and you will continue to do you best for them. 

Bruce Wayne comes by exactly once, and you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. He hands you a package and tells you that he found it in Jason's room, that it was addressed to you. 

Months later you finally bring yourself to open it.

You cry into an original printing of a book that you remember making you feel warm and safe for the first time in a long while. 

There's a note attached that just says ‘Thank you for everything -J’ with a doodle of a pirate ship next to it, you want to laugh and maybe you do, but it feels like a goodbye and it breaks your heart.

After that first night, you put the book aside and it's a long while before you can bring yourself to touch it again. 

This community doesn’t have much to spare, and neither do you, but you can’t do nothing. 

It takes almost two years of penny pinching and fundraising, but eventually, there's enough to get some nice copies of his favorite classics, a little plaque, and a picture. 

On the third anniversary of his death, the Jason Todd Memorial Collection is officially installed into the library. You add a chair, and every time you see a kid curled up there your heart hurts in a way that feels like healing.

You are so much older now than you ever thought possible. There have been more kids like Jason, some have even made it out of the city. Every Christmas you get a few cards and pictures of happy families, and you keep them in your desk, next to the note with a pirate ship and a copy of your favorite book. 

It’s the last Friday of the year, and you are closing down for the holiday season. there had been a few people milling about, trying to make the best of the warmth and the dry of the library before they have to spend another night out on the snowy Gotham street. 

Most of them know to leave when you shut off the first set of lights, but there are always a few stragglers. 

You see him on the first round of the building, sitting in the chair next to the memorial, engrossed in a what he's reading. You still have to do your reshelving so you leave him to it. he’s close to the end of the book anyways.

Setting yourself to the task, you keep an eye on the man as best you can, but the most he moves is just to flip the page. 

Finally, you finish, and when you return to tell the man it’s time to leave he’s already put the book he was reading back and is looking at the memorial plaque with an expression you can't quite place. 

‘who was he’ he asks in a quiet voice, and though its been so long, but you still feel yourself get a little bit choked up.

So many people have asked over the years that you usually have an answer, but somehow tonight feels different. Your usual words feel wrong in the half-lit library.

‘He was the most brilliant boy-’ you start but choke. 

You stand there together for a while, eventually, you find the words.

‘He is hope’ you say, and it settles over your heart like a blanket. ‘He was hope’.

The man laughs, its bitter but not unkind. ‘then I guess what they say about this city is true, hope is dead.’

Then he turns to leave, and the light catches his face, and for a moment your heart stops because this could be him, Jason; older than he ever was and with guilt that you had prayed he would never see. 

He stops when you call out but doesn't turn around. and you can’t bear to look. Instead you cast your mind for something to say. something that could help absolve him of whatever was hurting him.

‘Hope never really dies,’ you start but before you can finish he's laughing again. 

‘ain’t that the truth,’ he says bitterly and then he’s gone. 

It’s impossible, you tell yourself, but this whole city is made of impossible things. and though you never see him again, every Friday an anonymous donation is given to the library. 

The subject line always just reads ‘Hope’.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on tumblr, so hit me up if you wanna chat bat.


End file.
